


White

by Chrisoel



Series: Chrisoel's JBweek 2015 pieces [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, jbweek 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisoel/pseuds/Chrisoel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JB week day #7: White</p>
            </blockquote>





	White

White is sorrow.  
It is the colour of the shroud they wrap his mother in before they cover her with the red and gold of House Lannister. Red and gold are everyday colours for him, but the white of the shroud is an overwhelming void that seems to suck every happy memory of his mother from him. 

White is a promise.  
The promise of the glory that comes with the cloak of a Kingsguard knight. The promise of honorable deeds that will fill the his page in the White Book. The promise of being with his sister all the time. The promise of faithfulness to his sister.

White is a lie.  
The lie about the glory of the Kingsguard. The lie that he was chosen for the white cloak due to his abilities and not because he can be used as a hostage against his father. The lie it would make him innocent in the eyes of the people when he dons it once again under Roberts's reign.

White is shame.  
The shame of standing by while Aerys commits his crimes. The shame of letting Rickard Stark and so many others burn. The shame of failing Queen Rhaella. And Princess Elia. And Princess Rhaenys and her brother. And Cersei.

White is death.  
It is the hell of the North's winter. It is the endless expanse of snow and ice. It is the snowflakes falling from the sky, of a harsh beauty at first, but with every minute they keep falling they become deadlier for whomever is out there. For Brienne.

White is life.  
It is the fur of that beast Ned Stark's bastard wargs into. The beast that finds Brienne. Stays with her, curling around her unsconscious body to keep her warm while a rescue party fights its way through the snow to bring her into safety.

White is joy.  
The sunbleached locks of his daughter. The pebbles his toddler son presses in his hands. The foam on the waves he and Brienne stare at for hours, trying not to blink, because they both remember the stories they were told in their childhoods: if one looks close enough one will see unicorns in it.


End file.
